Giveth and Taketh Away
by taciturn-parasol
Summary: Life after the "Sacrifice". What became of the Winchester Boys, the angel, the prophet and the demon who deserved to be loved? (Note: Do not read if you haven't watched Season 8 finale)


**Giveth and Taketh Away**

**By Shaymaa Abusalih**

**One:**

Victor Crowley worked long days for reasonable pay. He crunched numbers, made spreadsheets and tapped away at his computer. Victor Crowley worked in a cubicle, made small talk during his breaks and ate a packed lunch at his desk. He was a quiet man. Tired and, at times, discontent, but he worked as best he could and made no complaints. He may have had a hard life, a dull one even, but it was good. It was more than he felt he deserved. And with every passing day, it managed to get better.

"Victor, how's it goin'?" his supervisor boomed enthusiastically.

Victor had just enough time to pin a smile on his face before swiveling around in his chair.

"It's going well. I just finished up that spreadsheet you asked me about."

"Good. Good." he nodded, leaning over the side of the cubicle. "So, this weekend we're having a little get-together. Can I count on you being there?"

Victor's smile became a little more genuine at the offer. "Sorry, I'll have to pass on this one."

"Oh, come on, live a little. There'll be drink and music. The whole office will be there." he begged.

"No, no, I've got plans for the weekend." Crowley admitted. "The wife's birthday."

His supervisor accepted this understandingly and didn't press him any further. "Well, you tell Linda I wish her a Happy Birthday."

"I will." said Crowley.

The supervisor then took his leave, visiting the cubicle on the other side of him. The same dialogue flowed from his mouth as though the banter had been rehearsed. For a while Crowley listened, amused by it and went on with his work.

At around the time of eight o'clock, Victor pulled up into the driveway of his suburban home in his modest little car. He slipped out of the front seat and trudged up the steps to the door with briefcase in hand, giving the yard a once-over to see if it was about time to mow the lawn or if the flowers were being fed well enough. After a switch of the lock and a turn of the door handle, he finally pushed his way into the house with a sigh of relief. Because despite the length of his day and how dreadfully boring it was, there was always that moment of bliss when he came home.

The house was lit with warm golden light and the pleasant sounds and smells drifted over to him from the kitchen. He softly set down his briefcase and hung up his coat before pacing steadily toward it.

This was what made it all worth it. The job, the cheap suits, the cubicle and all. It was worth it in the end because of this moment that he had the pleasure of experiencing every day – when he stepped into the kitchen and saw her.

She stood at the counter, humming to herself as she prepared his favorite meal. Although, it could be said that any meal she made for him was his favorite. And every song she hummed was beautiful because it came from somewhere deep inside her. Some place pleasant and bright and he found himself lost in it at times. But nowhere else did he feel most at home.

Her hair was draped over her shoulder in a braid, a few locks slipping past her ear every so often. Sometimes, just for the sake of watching her, he'd stand there soundlessly until she noticed him. His eyes fell upon her lovingly and with a warmth that glowed with the rest of the house. When he looked at her, he didn't only see a woman he loved, but a woman who loved him. And that was all he ever wanted. And just to stand and watch her was all he ever needed.

Her movements were graceful, her body delicate. Occasionally, those slender fingers would reach up to put a lock of hair back in its place. Or there were even the times she smiled for no reason. She could be in a room silent enough to her a pin drop and still, somehow, she'd smile as though very pleased with something only she had heard.

It was like this for a while. She was busy at her cutting board while a pot sat on the stove, bubbling with another priceless recipe. When she turned to check on it, her eyes were bright with delight.

"Welcome home." she chimed, setting the knife down on the chopping board. She wiped her hands clean on her apron before taking hold of Crowley's face to plant a kiss on his waiting lips. He smiled at this tender exchange, placing his arms around her.

"How was work?" she asked softly, staring up into his eyes.

"Same old, same old." he shrugged. "How was your day?"

"Nothing new really." she smiled, loosened his tie and gave him a pat on the chest. "Well, dinner will be ready in a little bit."

"Alright, I'll be upstairs if you need me." he told her, giving a quick peck on the cheek before leaving her to her cooking.

Upstairs, he rolled up his tie and placed it back in the drawer, catching sight of an old friend. Tucked alongside all the others – the plain and bargain-brand – was a charcoal grey, silk tie, embroidered with intricate patterns of black. He remembered how fond he was of it and the feeling of being in a hand-tailored suit. But now, he had no reason to wear it. Victor Crowley had left that life behind. Left it that night when stars fell out of the sky, the first night he felt anything in a very long time.

His wife Linda didn't have the slightest clue of who he was or _what_ he was. That was one of the things he loved about her most – her innocence. It wasn't that she didn't know well enough of the world, it was that she knew so much, she managed to only to see the good in it.

Still, he dare not tell her about his true nature. Though, he wasn't so sure of what that was any more. He wasn't so much a demon, but he still possessed those few abilities. He could teleport– though it took nearly every bit of energy he had – and could move objects – but this he rarely did, there was no occasion for it.

As strange as it was to become less of demon, the purity of Sam Winchester's blood did remove some of the inconveniences. Salt didn't burn, holy water was refreshing and emotions…he wondered how he went on all that time without them. Sure, there were moments when despair was terrible and guilt unbearable, but happiness, love, these were worth suffering for.

After taking off his shoes and washing his hands, he went down to help make dinner. He stood beside his wife, smiling at her from the cutting board and enjoying every moment of it.

This was the life of Victor Crowley. Simple, wonderful, everything he could have ever wanted. Still, though, there were times when he contemplated whether he really deserved such goodness, such love. Everyone deserved to be love, maybe even him, but why?

Such worries passed quickly, though, when Linda's gaze fell upon him. She'd never know. He never wanted her to know. Whether he deserved to be loved or not, she deserved the best possible life he could give her. And that was alright. Everything was alright.

**Two:**

It was a Friday night. A night Crowley and Linda often spent at home, but they were content in having a chance to just lie together on the couch with a blanket draped over them. They watched TV in silence, occasionally going back and forth when something was particularly interesting or when one wanted to point out to the other something they hadn't seen before – they watched many of the same things over and over just for that reason. These nights, they became experts on movie analysis, critics and even the actors that played on screens. Depending on the movie and the mood they were in, the happy couple would mutter the lines to each other until the game finally ended in a bout of laughter. So far, neither had said anything, so Linda decided to break the silence.

"So, what was Chester so worried about?" she said, remembering a phone call that he had taken earlier.

"Hmmm?" mumbled Crowley, who was lost in thought as he stared at the television.

Linda looked up at him, her face glowing softly from the light streaming out into the darkened living room from the screen. His eyes eventually met hers. "What did you and Chester talk about?"

"_Dating advice, _if you can believe it."

Linda's eyes widened. "Is that so? What'd you tell him?"

Crowley shrugged. "I didn't really tell him anything. He talked and I listened, that's usually how it goes isn't it?"

"Come on, tell me." she pressed on, turning over so that she could face him.

"What do you want me to tell you?"

"Why does Chester need dating advice?"

"You could give me a day and I still wouldn't be able to tell you all the reasons he'd need dating advice."

Linda giggled. "Where does he want to take the lucky girl?"

"A bar."

Linda's nose wrinkled at his reply. "Well, I guess that's reason number one."

Crowley scoffed and finally gave in. "They're having a thing at work, everyone's going to this bar and he wanted to bring a date."

"And why aren't you going?" she asked.

"Your birthday's coming up, don't you want to celebrate?"

"My birthday is on Monday this year." she smirked. "Not much to celebrate."

Crowley looked away for a moment, shuffling through his mind, trying to figure out how it was he managed to get it wrong again. He was so sure it was tomorrow.

"I think you should go." she told him.

"Hold on, I never said I _wanted_ to go." he argued.

"Well, I think you should." she said, placing a hand against his cheek. "You must get bored having nothing to do but come home to me every day."

"I know what boring is, I work in a cubicle." he chuckled, then tapping her on the nose. "And _you _could never bore me."

"Just spend some time with your friends for once. It'll be good for you." she cooed, her fingers tracing his jawline.

With his defenses down, Crowley surrendered with a sigh. "Alright, I'll go. But only if you come with me."

Linda smiled triumphantly. "No, I think I'll stay home. Otherwise, who will be here to pick up when you start making drunk phone calls."

Crowley pinned her with a teasing glare. "You know, one day that little trick's not going to work."

Linda didn't answer at first but instead, turned back over, burrowing deeper beneath the blanket. "Oh, I wouldn't bet on it."

That Saturday evening Crowley dressed as casually as he could manage, kissed Linda goodbye and left her to enjoy a night on her own. She had made preparations for such a night – an arsenal of chocolate and a stack of movies she had yet to see and that Crowley refused to lay eyes on. It wasn't that her taste in movies was bad, it was simply that she was easily entertained and rarely ever critical about anything. Crowley was sad to leave her alone, but more than glad to escape an hour and a half of another low-budget romance that was sure to have her in tears.

He slipped into his coat and he stepped out in the pleasant roast of a summer evening. He checked that the door was locked and lingered in front of the house a moment before he finally headed over to the bar. As hard as he tried, he could not shake the feeling that something might happen tonight, perhaps, even go wrong. But he did what he could to quiet the troubles in his mind and drove on.

What Crowley was feeling was the stillness of everything above and all that is below. He, of course, did not know this for sure. He could not see that in this stillness, this calm, there was something brewing. Silent stars conversed. There were murmurs in the ground. Careful plans were being set in motion and he didn't know.

The troop of colleges at the bar greeted him with radiant smiles of tipsy upon his arrival. Crowley could only laugh, surprised to find that all of them were eager to have him join them tonight – almost as if they were getting away with something.

The entire bar was wild with talk and laughter as pitchers were passed around. Crowley stood at the bar with the more reserved of the group, enjoying a glass of scotch. After a while, Chester managed to find him and introduced him to the amazon he had decided to bring along with him. She stood a few inches taller than him in heels and beamed down at him with glossy red lips. It was a fatal attraction as far as Crowley could tell. A passing fancy. But he did his best to sound interested and try to get to know her as though he might actually see her again.

When Chester decided he had shown her off enough to Crowley, he herded her back into the crook of his arm to introduce her to the others. Many eyes turned toward the tall, slim thing in the tight dress and Crowley could only roll his eyes in amusement as the party became suddenly more interesting.

As the night went on, the more crowded and louder the bar became. All the stress of deadlines and paper jams were being drowned away as the office workers tried to escape themselves. Crowley barely noticed his phone ringing.

After excusing himself, he slipped out of the door and in to the open night air. It was refreshing and comparatively cooler.

He pulled out his phone and saw that it was Linda. Perhaps, he'd have reason to leave early.

"Hello, Sweetheart."

A whisper came from the other end of the phone. "Vic…could you come home?"

His expression became grave. "What's wrong?"

"Please." she begged. "I'm just so scared."

"Alright, I'm on my way." he told her as he rushed across the street to his car.

"Victor, I think they're in the house." she sobbed quietly.

"I'm on my way." he told her, his voice becoming panicked. "Just stay on the phone, I'm coming."

After tossing the phone onto the passenger's seat, he sped down the street, the tires of his car letting out a squeal. There were quicker ways of getting home, but if Linda was in danger, he'd need every bit of strength he had in him.

Who were they and what did they want? He tried to shake the ideas from his head. The things that could happen to her. What if his past had finally caught up with him? No, he couldn't think of that right now.

"Victor." Linda's voice came more urgently through the phone.

"It's alright Sweetheart, I'm almost there!"

There was a scream.

Suddenly, the cheap car speeding down the road went out of control. The wheel had no steady hands to hold it. The car, heavy with speed, dove right into the traffic of a busy intersection.

After the massive pileup, witnesses to the crash peered inside the car responsible with searching eyes and found the driver's seat empty. A cracked phone lay beneath the dash.

**Three:**

Not a second had passed when Crowley had realized the car was gone and that he was now standing in the center of their bedroom.

He couldn't, however, take in his surroundings as quickly. He only saw Linda, her arms held behind her back and a large hand gripping her throat.

"Linda." he breathed, his voice ragged with worry.

But when he moved to take a step forward, his path was blocked by an invisible wall. He knew its strength all too well. He paled at the sight of the Devil's Trap beneath his feet.

Two black-eyed men stepped into the dim candlelight coming from the alter set up at the end of the room, including the man who held the whimpering Linda pressed against his chest.

"Hello, Crowley." the obvious leader of the group began. "Long time no see."

Linda's eyes flashed toward her husband, swimming with questions and tears, but she didn't dare speak. She barely uttered a sound as she tried to make sense of what was going on.

Crowley turned to her, his expression apologetic and then to the demon with a lethal glare. "Amin, you should've called first."

"Oh, you know me. I'm just so eager to catch up." Amin smirked.

"Then, why don't we talk somewhere private?" Crowley said darkly. "Leave my wife to her movies."

"It took us a while to find you, Crowley." said Amin, ignoring his words as he circled the Trap. "I had you pinned for dead, but Abaddon…well, she's a bit of an optimist. Persistent too. Wouldn't stop nagging me until I brought her the head of the Hell's King."

Abaddon, Crowley thought. He knew that hex bags wouldn't last him forever, but if he just had more time. Time to run, to hide, to keep Linda safe.

"Alright." said Crowley. "I'll come quietly."

"No." Linda gasped, finally able to find her voice.

She was quickly silenced with a slap on the face. Amin left her cheek red and stinging. She began to cry even harder now, her mind in tangles at the thought of Crowley being taken away by these…things.

Amin began to chuckle. "You're just no fun."

"I want you out of my house and for you to leave my wife alone." Crowley shot at him.

"Okay, we'll take you, but first, let's make this interesting."

Amin smiled with both faces. The true, twisted, ugly face and the face of the poor bastard he had possessed – a blood-thirsty smile. And then he turned to Linda with that smile, but she kept her eyes trained ahead. She looked only to Crowley with a usual, undying trust and sincerity. She may have not understood what was going on, but she wanted Crowley to know she was alright and would be if he just stayed. And her eyes remained on him when Amin took hold of her face.

"Stop it!" Crowley barked at him.

But he was ignored once again as Amin began to whisper like the snake in the garden. "So, you're old Crowley's wife, is that right?"

Linda, her breathing short and quick answered in a failing voice, "Yes."

"For better or for worse?" he teased.

"Yes." she told him.

"In sickness and in health?"

"Yes."

"Till…what was that last bit again, Crowley?"

"Just leave her alone." Crowley growled at him.

Amin leaned in close.

"Finish it for me, will you sweetheart?" he purred at Linda.

"'Till death do us part'." she shivered.

"Very good." he cooed. "But that's the problem, isn't it Crowley? You can't die. At least, not in the human sense."

He turned to him with a smirk, quite satisfied with the questioning look on Linda's face and pulled out a plain knife from his pocket. Linda let out a shriek when it flew from his hands and right into Crowley's chest. But nothing happened. Crowley just stood there. His face had become drained now that there was no chance of keeping the truth hidden from her. With slackened shoulders and his eyes downcast, Crowley plucked the knife from his chest and let it clatter to the floor.

Linda began to shake as she was torn between relief and utter horror at what she had just seen.

"Victor?" she managed in a voice that as barely a whisper. The hand around her throat tightened a fraction to keep her silent.

"You see sweetheart, this 'man' over here, the one you married, he's not even human." Amin announced animatedly. "In fact, he's a lot like us."

"I'm sorry, Linda." Crowley told her in a gentle voice. "I didn't know they would find me so quickly. I should have been more careful."

Amin laughed outright. Never had he heard anything more ridiculous. There wasn't a chance in Hell that this woman would see him as anything but the monster he was.

Yet, despite her fear, her confusion, Linda looked at her husband as she always did. And with tears trailing down her face, she smiled so delicately and whispered, "It's okay."

Crowley was just as awed by this as the rest of them. Amin grew as frustrated as a child.

"You _do_ understand what this means right?" he shot at her. "He's been lying to you for as long as he's known you. He's a demon."

"I don't care." she replied, her voice weak and her eyes never leaving Crowley's. "He didn't lie when he said he loved me."

Crowley's guilt-stricken heart warmed at this and he smiled at her reassuringly.

Amin let out a sigh of disappointment. "Damn, I was right. You _are_ no fun. Kill her."

That moment that came to pass was too much for his mind to process. It was a moment that lasted far too long and ended so suddenly.

Linda's smile was gone, a frightened gaze took its place and soon after, that was gone too. Crowley looked upon his wife unable to move, unable to speak as a bloodied hand slowly ripped itself from her body. Her eyes were blank now and her body fell limply to the floor. Crowley stepped forward to catch her, but the restraint on his arms was too immense. She lay dead at his feet, a pool of blood gently creeping around her.

"Linda!" he croaked.

She didn't answer.

A tear betrayed him and he crumpled to the ground, sobbing before her – unable to close her dead, blind eyes or stroke her hair one last time. She was the beginning of his wonderful life. There was laughter and love and so much of everything pleasant that he hadn't known existed until her. And now, that life had ended.

"The King of Hell." Amin grimaced. "My how far you've fallen."

The other two demons laughed at Crowley, amused by how seemingly weak he had become, how pitiful and all for a girl.

"I'm sure Abaddon wouldn't want to miss this." Amin told Crowley. "You sit tight and I'll be right back."

Amin and Linda's killer were gone, leaving Crowley with the third demon who found this entire spectacle to be hilarious. It was futile trying to shut out the laughter but little by little, Crowley's tears dried and his face grew hot with anger at the sound of it. Now, he refused to go down without a fight and refused to have his life just end this way. A plan had already formed itself in his head.

He sat on the ground, watching the blood seep from Linda's body in silence and anticipation. It spread across the floor until, eventually, it reached the rim of the Devil's Trap broke it.

That demon never stood a chance.

Crowley held out his hand, summoning the gun he kept beneath his pillow and shot the demon in the head as soon as it was in his grasp. The demon's eyes sparked red and orange before it fell to the ground. He had hoped he'd never have to use it again when he spend hours melting down angel daggers to cast the bullets. Hoping did him no good. Crowley stashed the gun in his waistband and gathered Linda against his chest.

There had to be a way. There just had to be. He couldn't allow her to stay dead and he knew of only one person who could reverse this. The angel Castiel.

Crowley didn't have the slightest clue of where he was, but he knew that wherever the Winchester boys were, Cas wouldn't be too hard to find.

He set Linda down gently and closed her eyes before rushing to the summoning alter and clearing away what he didn't need. He put together a location spell and sliced open his hand to bleed into the bowl.

Use the body to find the body.

In a way, the blood that ran through Crowley's veins belonged to Sam Winchester. He almost prayed that it would be enough.

Sam's location was hard to make out, cloaked by something, for protection he assumed. Still, he could just get close enough to go looking for them. It was better than waiting around for Abaddon to come kill him.

With quaking arms, he lifted Linda off of the ground. He drew out all of his remaining strength to disappear into the night without a trace and with his beloved bride.

**Four:**

"Find anything?" Sam asked.

"Not a damn thing." Dean sighed. "No vamps, shapeshifters, demons. No _angels_."

Dean shut his laptop and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes. He reached for a glass on the table but slammed it back down in annoyance when he had found it was empty.

"Where the hell is Cas?" he muttered. "I sent him out and hour ago."

Sam was too deep in thought to hear his question or even answer it.

"It's like they've all stopped." said Sam in a distant tone. "Like nothing is moving anymore."

Dean turned his attention over to his little brother, who towered over his shoulder.

He had barely improved since the Falling. The most he could do was walk, but even that exhausted him. His steps were slow and heavy, the weight of Purity nearly crushing him every moment of every day. His eyes were moist and red, rimmed with dark circles that stood out against the paleness of his skin. His hands trembled slightly as he held his own empty glass.

There was something familiar about his gait that one finds in those who grow old, but Sam wasn't so much aging as he was wasting away.

"Why don't you get some shut eye, Sammy." Dean suggested delicately.

This interrupted Sam's reverie, but he figured he'd much rather be sleeping than thinking anyway.

With some difficulty, he nodded, almost too weak to lift his head afterward. He then shuffled into his room, falling into bed flat on his stomach and into a deep sleep.

Dean sat in the silence for a long while, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was worn and tired, but as always, he was stubborn. It was never enough to keep him from "doing the job".

He stood and stretched his sore limbs before plucking the glass from the table and heading into the kitchen. But before he could take even one step in that direction, there was a creak and shutter as the door to the lair opened. He could hear the rustle of grocery bags and the click of work shoes as someone stepped through the threshold.

"Cas?" Dean called down to him.

The door was shut in response and footsteps came up the metal stairs. Castiel's head bobbed into view as he mounted the last few steps. His hair, like the feathers of a fledgling, stuck out all directions in black tufts. His eyes were tired but his gaze was patient. He was due for a good shave soon but he thought of holding it off a while longer. He wasn't too eager to have his face nicked again like the last few times.

"Sorry I took so long." Castiel apologized in a gruff voice. "I had a lot of sorting to do with the coupons you gave me."

Dean raised an eyebrow to him, taking a few of the bags. "You used all of them?"

"Yes."

"Well, what do you know. Lost his mojo only to find he has the gift of extreme couponing." Dean smirked. He peeked into the bag he was holding. "Did you get the booze?"

"No." Castiel sighed with a tone of annoyance.

"Why not?"

"Cirrhosis." he replied with a grimace.

He headed toward the kitchen with the bags, pressing a finger to Dean's side. Unlike before, there was no sudden jolt that came with the touch. Dean felt no different than he did before, no cleaner, no healthier. Cas may have not been able to heal him anymore but he could still see his body wearing away with each day, each drink. He thought it had stopped being a problem a long time ago but Sam's condition wasn't getting any better and Dean was starting to lose hope. So, he took to the bottle again.

Dean followed him into the kitchen without argument and together they restocked the cupboards and refrigerator.

"You should be fine for now, but I really think you should stop drinking." Cas warned him. "There's nothing I can do to help if you get sick too."

"Yeah, I get it." said Dean. He tried to direct the conversation to a different topic. "Did you walk over here?"

"Yes." Cas turned away, slightly embarrassed he turned from side to side, unable to find the right cupboard to put the can of baked beans in.

Dean couldn't deny himself a smile. He thought teaching Cas to drive would come in handy someday. Unfortunately, the idea was somewhat terrifying to Castiel. Well, completely terrifying actually.

"Come on, what's the big deal? Just do what I told you. It's not that hard." Dean had told him.

"Dean," Cas answered trying to keep his voice from shaking. "I know how fond of this car you are. If anything should happen to it –"

"Just shut up and drive." Dean cut him off and laughed. He pressing his foot down on top of Cas's and the car shot forward.

He remembered how far back the angel pressed against his seat as he tried to keep the wheel steady squinting as he tried so very hard not to close his eye. The look of terror on his face was the most satisfying thing Dean had seen in a long time.

They continued to talk while Sam and Kevin slept on in their rooms. All was silent in the lair until Castiel suddenly grew tense and a turned to Dean with fire in his eyes.

"What is it, Cas?" Dean asked urgently.

And both their heads turned toward the door when they heard the faintest sound coming from the other side. A voice, desperate and weak, pounding against the metal door. It was only one word. One that struck them with such electricity that their hearts began to beat fiercely. They knew who it was but not what he wanted just from hearing that one word.

"Boys!"

**Part Five:**

To the East of Lawrence, Kansas is a long stretch of lush, green grass. For many years people would come and sit to enjoy its soft touch and pleasant smell. Tiny hands would pluck at it and braid the thin feather blades. And in the summers, people would gather, cradled in the green as they stared up into a sky that burst with the color and light of fireworks.

But then the grass grew tall and wild and though it had been a place for play, a place to hide and chase one another, the children of Lawrence were forbidden to tread in the vast green ever again. The joy that once brought so many to the field was soon replaced with fear. No one knew what could be lurking in the grass, what could be lost in it. So, it remained emptier and quieter with every passing year and the grass grew thick. The lonely field only had only one to call its friend. A warehouse, long-abandoned, that stood rusting at its center. Most of the walls had turned brown and rotted away. Whatever sprouted from the earth climbed until the warehouse was held together with tangled vines. From a distance one could almost swear a grassy hill stood in that field.

And so, the two, the field and its friend lived in harmony and in silence for years until, one day, a man turned his head toward the sky and saw it break.

The still blue was torn through by a giant flame that quickly faded behind the wall of trees. At first, he was sure that he was mistaken. His eyes darted toward the people around him in the street, but none of them had seen. None of them had even bothered to look up.

Now, this man whose name was Walter wasn't of any great standing or of great importance to the world he knew, but the seemingly insignificant are often those at the beginning of all great stories.

It would begin on this day that a new story would begin, a new chapter and it would begin with Walter.

The drive out to the field was much shorter than he had remembered, but then again, he had never driven so fast toward anything before.

The gravel popped beneath the tires of his car as he pulled up beside the field. It wasn't until he cut the engine and was absorbed by the silence that he became unsure of what he was doing. He had come to this place knowing exactly what he wanted to do but now he seemed to have forgotten it suddenly.

He sat in his car and stared at the trees surrounding the field. From its edge he could see nothing. The trees were like a fortress rising high above him with hostile glares of unwelcome. At that moment, he would have left, but today was the beginning and Walter's curiosity had not yet been satisfied.

Hesitantly, he slid out of his truck and shut the door that squeaked – pleading him to come back inside and drive away. One foot after the other, he shuffled through the gravel toward the field. He remembered the stories his mother told him to keep him from this place. Monsters lived in there. A giant, black snake swallowed naughty children whole. He grew, and eventually learned that none of this was true, but he could only wonder at the familiar feeling he was getting. Like there was something not right about this place. He shouldn't be here, but something stronger beckoned him to go further. With trembling hands he parted the grass and climbed into it.

The field came alive with a warm breeze, swaying happily against his chest as he pushed his way through. Soon, the warehouse came into view, rising out of the grass like a green knuckle. A cloud of dust was settling around it while smoke continued to rise out of the rooftop then, dwindle into nothing. His heart quickened at the sight of it and he began to tear through the grass eagerly.

When he came to the warehouse, he could smell the scent of hot metal. He searched desperately for a way in but found the door was buried beneath the tangles of far-reaching grass. He went to work, pulling and ripping away at it until he had cleared away enough to grab hold of the door handle. With all his strength, he tugged at it until the rusty seal gave way and a wall of dust tumbled out at him.

Coughing and with eyes shut, Walter felt his way into the warehouse. There was the sound of light snaps and he could feel the heat of a dying fire. He squinted as he looked around the empty warehouse but saw nothing but the bits of trash lingering in the hard dirt, and the green glow of the walls as sunlight hit them. Walter knew it had to be here – whatever had fallen from the sky but found nothing. He sighed, somewhat relieved. He wasn't sure what he would've done if he _had _found something.

His heart slowed to a comfortable pace and he found himself calm in the silence of the warehouse. He stepped into a patch of sunlight where a part of the roof had caved in and looked up into the sky. Perhaps, it was all in his head. There was no trace, no scar in the sky that would've shown anything had fallen.

He closed his eyes against the glare of the sun and took a deep breath, taking a moment to enjoy its warmth. He stood there, listening to the chimes of the still-cooling metal only to have the unpleasant shock of something wet and thick hit his cheek. Walter's hand quickly went to his face to catch a speck of blood on his fingers.

Directly above him was a beam that ran across the length of the warehouse and as he peered up at it, he tried to find his voice in the chaos of his thoughts. He cleared his throat and with a voice weakened by fear, he called up to the fallen something.

"H-hello? Is…is anybody up there?"

Another drop of blood fell between his feet and sent him stepping a few paces backward. Still, he did not take his eyes from that spot. He saw now that the thing began to move. A single delicate arm slipped from its hiding place and hung, white and radiant in the sun light. Next, was a face, a small, childlike face that stared at him with eyes so blue they were like crystal. The pale pink lips curved into a smile but did not part to speak. For a brief moment, the smile was gone as the hand raised itself to a dark head. Walter found the courage to speak again when the hand came away with blood.

"You're hurt." he gasped. "Alright, you-you just stay right there. I'll get some help."

He made a move to pull out his phone but a porcelain-shaded grip stopped him. The phone fell from his hand as he froze at its touch.

The girl the hand belonged to now stood before him, little, lithe and pale. Her eyes were more shocking and more brilliant in this closeness and her black hair a great contrast. She smiled again and Walter felt himself smiling too into her perfect face.

The strange girl loosened her grip on his wrist and moved her hand to cradle his own. With her palm still bloody, she did the same to the other and lifted both of his hands to her sky blue eyes. For a while, Walter said nothing, didn't move. He only watched her as she gazed at his callused palms. When she had finished, she looked up at him with tears in her eyes but still smiled, gladdened more deeply by what she had seen. She then kissed both palms and gave them a squeeze. Walter's only reaction was to laugh.

"I guess you hit your head pretty hard there."

She touched the back of her head once more and nodded.

"It's okay though because I'm gon'na get you a doctor. Okay?" he told her. His eyes wandered back up to the beam. "How the hell'd you get down from there so fast? Hell, why were you up there in the first place?"

She wouldn't answer. She couldn't. She only looked down at herself and back up at him with a hopeful expression. It was just now that he noticed how bare she was. Walter turned his head away and surrendered his jacket to her. She wrapped it around her like a bath towel only to look down at it quizzically when it fell limply to the ground.

It took Walter a moment to understand this himself, but he reached down and grabbed the jacket, dusting it off before he held to open for her.

"No, you see, you put your arms in here." he told her. The puzzled look did not leave her face. "You see? One there, one there."

This she seemed to understand, but instead of turning her back to him to slip into the jacket, she held both arms out and pushed them forward into the sleeves.

"No, I mean…Okay. That's okay."

He turned her around to button up the back. He tried to keep his eyes from falling upon her alabaster skin as he went from top to bottom, sealing it away into the stiff, thick cloth of his jacket.

"Okay." he breathed. "Okay, come on, let's go."

Walter held his arm out, beckoning her over to him as he edged toward the door. The girl took one step forward, then stopped herself. She took a moment to turn and look up at the sky, raising a hand above her head as though she were catching raindrops. She was beckoning something towards her as well.

Walter sighed impatiently, taking note of the matted spot on her head where it was still bleeding heavily. Carefully, he approached her and gathered her up in the crook of his arm. She turned to him with a patient gaze.

"Please," he said gently. "Let me take you to a hospital. Give me some peace of mind."

With that, she lowered her arm and let herself be guided out into the field. She turned her face down against the stinging light of the sun. It was foreign to her, frightening even, but she soon discovered how pleasant and welcoming it really was. She closed her eyes and lifted her head as they passed through the field, treading barefoot across the cool grass and letting her fingers brush against it playfully.

As concerned as he was, Walter couldn't help but smile down at her. Sure, it was mysterious that he should find her in the very same spot he was _sure_ a meteor of some sort had landed. And yes, it was strange that she was naked as well as seeming to have no knowledge of how to dress herself. But there was something about all of this, about her, that seemed not only perfectly alright, but absolutely meant to be. Everything around him seemed to echo with the words, "She's yours to protect, Walter. She's important to this world and so are you."

The drive back to Lawrence was longer and silent. The girl never uttered a sound but stared intently at Walter any time that he decided to speak. She seemed to understand everything he said and actually care, but did not possess the ability to make that known to him. So, her thoughts, where she was from and even her name remained a mystery to Walter. There was a lot about her that made him curious and when he saw her turn her head back toward the field, her eyes almost worried and longing, he supposed it was just something else about her that he didn't understand.


End file.
